


Firebird and Ashflower (Suite)

by tsukara



Category: Bleach
Genre: Background Relationships, Canon Compliant, F/M, Gen, Rare Pairings, Romantic Friendship, Second Chances
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-03
Updated: 2013-04-03
Packaged: 2017-12-07 08:32:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/746465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tsukara/pseuds/tsukara
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In fire, steel is refined, things turn to ash, and from it all, something new rises. He looks at her with suspicion, she bears the pity and doubts of all. When all is ashes, and your heart is new, where do you look? What can be unexpected when everything is new again?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Allemande: Adagio

**Author's Note:**

> I should never write things on dares I should never allow plot-bunnies to get ahold of me. That said, have a fic.

She passes him in the hallway, a slip of a girl, just out of bed, not likely to remain out long, and Kuchiki Byakuya wonder if he's really seeing ghosts. Rukia, for all that she looks like her sister, is different from Hisana: he is learning to see her for herself, now. He blinks, and the dark-haired, head-hanging woman resolves into the white-clad lieutenant of the recently upheaved Fifth Division. The one who stood up to him over the matter of an injured Renji (who was right to stand up to him and his mistakes, if he lets himself remember truly).

And what response, then? The most basic, and simple, perhaps; a brief nod at the girl, startled out of herself by his regard, and he moves on.

\--

The captains are all so damned _understanding_ of her and her 'situation'. They will be lenient, they will be kind, they will expect delays in the paperwork, seeing as she's...

Still recovering, they leave it as. 

It makes her sick. The pity, the not-understanding. Rangiku knows, but at least Gin had the decency to apologize to her, before he went. Hinamori subsists on second-hand accounts, on the facts from the skew of a world that now hates the name Aizen Sousuke.

(She finds it harder to hate him, the warmth of his arms not yet superseded by the cold of his blade, or of the far-off stories of a would-be god ascending. She supposes she will grow to hate him too, but does not want to hold such a cold emotion against her heart. It has seen much so much cold already.)

They stand there in their row and carefully don't look at her, the poor little lieutenant, freshly out of bed. Hisagi, oh, Hisagi-senpai, he always looked like captain material. And Kira-kun, well, if he seems a dim replacement for his traitorous captain, at least he's something, right? But her? She feels out of place in this room full of captains. It feeds the seeds of doubt in her heart planted there by the enemy they want her to fight and she flees, bowing, followed only by their regard.

It terrifies her, even more than the thought of war, or who against.

\--

He is learning to become a brother, and it is harder than he thought it might be. When he had honored his late, beloved wife's request, he had expected that it would go over with the minimum of fuss and then he could keep her out of sight, out of mind, not think about her except for her few reports (what did unseated officers have to report anyway?) and her presence. 

Now, he was forcing himself to see her as a sister, and not as Hisana's burden placed upon him, or the onus of a family disappointed in him once more. Rukia, he finds, is vivid. Hisana was the transience of cherry blossoms, fleeting and so beautiful for it. Her sister by blood, his by plight, Rukia is as brilliant and fierce as a blizzard. She leaves nothing unchanged in her wake. Not even him, his heart reopened to the cold wounds of pride, loneliness, love--all the things he swore he left behind. He wants to see her rise dancing, now, not be buried under the obligations and oppression of several thousand years of Kuchiki clan history, even as his heart is wounded through.

Pride becomes him, a Kuchiki. Pride in his sister, his division, his organization, all mixed. Even if they have some strange replacements for captains, in the meeting hall. Kira, Hisagi, Hinamori--all classmates with his own lieutenant, all touched and twisted by Aizen or his own followers, to what end he still does not know. Hisagi, the one from the Ninth, holds his division together so well you'd almost not know how many sleepless nights he's spent, at a graveside or over articles to be done by first light. Kira is as quiet and humble as Gin was loud and borderline disrespectful. Byakuya can find nothing to reproach there, save that his emotions display too nakedly on his face, from time to time. He must learn more control, if he is to truly cover for his captain, for now.

And then there is the girl purported to lead the fifth division. Byakuya, for all his cold insight into others, finds it difficult to get a read on her, even after close scrutiny at meetings, in the halls. She is quiet, deferential, almost unnoticeable. But Byakuya remembers the fiery woman who stood up to him over something important to her, though he a captain and she a mere lieutenant. He wonders if she's hiding something. If it's all an act to lure them into a false sense of security so Aizen can worm his way back into the Soul Society he desires to stand atop. He watches her with suspicion in his eyes, hardly knowing he is not the only one.

Eventually, he realizes that she is no double agent, no turned traitor hiding behind false modesty and niceness. She is broken, and somewhere in his soul he aches for her, this lieutenant he should think nothing more of.

\--

They all stare at her. Everyone, everywhere she goes. She even takes to not wearing her lieutenant badge, for a while, though it pains her. That way, perhaps fewer will realize who the girl with the pale skin and the bags under her eyes and the downward glancing eyes is. Perhaps fewer of them will stare.

It never works out, of course. Half of them have that sickening pity, and half of them ice-sharp suspicion. She knows why. She isn't stupid, contrary to popular belief. Aizen-taichou had fooled them all, she just bore the brunt of it. Somehow, the suspicion is easier to bear. She suspects it is because, unlike the pity, she does not deserve one damn bit of it.

She throws herself into her work. But the perfect lieutenant thing only reinforces some people's thinking, she knows--so sad, holding to the routines he left her, or, he made her so perfect, didn't he, I wonder when it will end--but she hasn't got anything else to hold to, even as she crumbles under their attention.

But while Aizen may have done his best to break her, she was always stronger than even he knew. Somewhere, under all that niceness and sweetness and goodness there is, and always was, a steel core that never went away. Yes, she bent herself and molded herself to desires (fire is like that), but no one expects the sweet, good girl to stand up to them. To snap back into her place of defiance and burning brightness when bent too far. 

To her later horror, it's Kuchiki-taichou she snaps in front of, telling him off for the suspicion in his eyes, in everyone's eyes. "If you're that sure of it, turn me over to the Second or something," she spits, and it's a stupid and a desperate thing to say and she's half expecting him to grab her and haul her off to make good on it, or a thousand blades to pierce her on the spot, even as she runs off. Even as she doesn't know she's piercing his newly opened heart.

\--

Hisana hadn't had an easy life. That much was to be expected of anyone who ended up in so high a numbered district and survived. She had been beautiful, temporal, and he had loved her so deeply, even up to her scars and tattered edges. It hadn't always been so easy to love her, when all he saw was a gutter rat wrapped in the shrouds of a beauty that, he thought, shouldn't belong to one so low. She had frowned at him, and demurred (not the usual coy come-ons of ladies one had better not get involved with, but true humility, true shame. It was the truth he found beautiful). For a man used to getting everything he wanted, even if he had few wants, she was a breath of freshness, breezing into his heart without knowing that she was.

So when he hears words that echo hers ('if you are so sure of that, sir', the deference and defiance mixed), across too many (too few) years and too much distance, his heart seizes and he cannot put her out of his mind for the rest of the day. Blue eyes turn to brass and his heart is dizzy with confusion. 

There are things he knows: he loved, and still loves, Hisana. He is a Kuchiki, proud, strong and unwavering. She is a merely lieutenant, tossed aside like a leaf in the wake of the greatest enemy Soul Society has known in a thousand years or more. 

And yet.

How should her eyes keep him awake at night, that glint of steel in them, aimed not at him, but at her own traitorous heart (that too, he knows far too well). How should her words, meant to wound but not so deeply as this, pierce his heart and set it afire with something that is not... well, there are many things it is not, and he can name many. 'Appropriate' and 'worthy' top the list, but going down there's 'wise' and 'sensible' too.

How should one girl be so powerful in her own right? He does not believe she can be, so he watches, and waits for her to slip again.

\--

She should not have said such a thing. To a captain, at that. Abarai-kun consoles her, tells her that Kuchiki-taichou, well, he looks pretty scary, and yeah he supposes he can kinda be sort of scary and, yeah, he's only from one of the most powerful families in all of Soul Society (at which point Renji loses his drift and goes off on some tangent and she rolls her eyes and puts on a smile she doesn't quite feel). Perhaps he should have hauled her off. To the Second, to the Twelfth, to be interrogated and investigated, grilled, examined--who knew, maybe even tortured, since the stories of the Twelfth didn't stop there--picked apart piece by piece for the seed of sedition they were all so sure was hiding somewhere in her being.

Yet she couldn't quite bring herself to regret it. It had felt _good_ , really, speaking her truth out loud, challenging the pity and the distrust all at once. But didn't most people regard her like that, these days? That same mix? So why had she chosen to snap at him and not someone far less terrifying, less likely to cut her to ribbons and leave her to die?

She shakes her head at Kira's question and mulls it over more. Had there been something different, maybe? Perhaps he had looked at her with more misgivings, and she had simply reacted to that. Maybe there was just that much less pity in his gaze than in the others. that would fit him, certainly, but her reaction? No, maybe not.

Hinamori could not explain it to herself, nor to anyone around her. So she chalked it up as a moment of stupidity and bravado and moved on. Though, from that point forward, she watched his eyes for suspicion more than any other's. This too she justified to herself: a captain's doubts might lead the others, and if they all began to doubt her, well. She might find herself in the Twelfth after all.

Even though she does not realize it, it changes her. Hitsugaya looks at her with the same pity born from her kindness and loyalty to a man they all have trained her to be loyal to for so long, and she puts kindness away in its box. Her steel core, she keeps. She will not bow to their condolences or their conjectures. She would not see his doubts confirmed, nor his pity increased.

She is unsure of whose doubts she thinks when she ties on her badge and puts her hands to the hilt of her zanpakutou. Gray and ice-blue shatter like fragments, into a prism of colors, daring her to burn them all away in the fire that sings to her soul, even so broken and cold.

Hinamori falls defeated at last by the pity and the illusion of suspicion, lying in tatters in a city as fake as any they've built for themselves.

\--

The Captain-commander seems to think the haori off their backs are the most dismaying result to emerge from Hueco Mundo. Byakuya knows better. His pride laid bare before an enemy, the inconsequentiality of it all, the strange enemies and stranger allies made, the unwitnessed denouement of the greatest fight Soul Society will ever see (oh gods and kings, they hope)--there are things more important than clothes, even ones so symbolic as that. But the Captain-commander's focus on the trivial as a metonym for the larger picture, ah, yes, that he understands.

So perhaps it is fitting that, while his sister and his lieutenant are off with the boy that saved them all, he worries about things he should have no business thinking about. A few disinterested queries gain him the information--she fought bravely, she was with us to the last, and she yet lives, though it is a near thing still--he desires. Just enough to keep him awake. Just enough to notice Hisagi-fukutaichou and Kira-fukutaichou and wonder if they worry for her too.

Her steel is so different from the ephemeral blossom. Yet he knows these things are not always what they seem, and that sometimes a petal is much sharper than it first appears. And heat, after all, brings spring.

\--

When there's nothing left to burn, the ground waits. In silence and in ashes, later, there will always come something new.

She walks the ways of Seireitei, and he no longer thinks he sees a ghost. Hinamori has come through the trials of fire and burned and paid oh so dearly for the burning. But she has survived, steel-refined. He speaks to her, in the hall, as she walks with her head held up (no longer weighted by doubts and slights and lies, but buoyed by her own, singular self that cannot be taken from her). Hinamori does not flinch away, but meets him, eye for eye. Eyes in which she no longer finds pity or uncertainty, but a long, slow regard, interesting, and curiously unbarred, for a man she'd heard was one of Soul Society's closest-guarded and most closed.

"Tea?" She asks, the curiosity naked in her voice, and he pauses.

A long silence as the mores of his ancestors war with the regard of his heart, for the hundredth time. "Yes. If you would... like."

Hinamori regards him herself for a long, slow moment, her own heart judging whether this is the moment to flee and burn her old thought-of-enemies behind her with the ground or begin something new. She chooses the latter. She has had enough of burning, for now, even in her fire-trued heart. "I would like that very much, Kuchiki-sama."

He bows, and she watches him go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "When there's nothing left to burn, you have to set yourself on fire."


	2. Courante: Tempo di cuore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In some older texts the development section of a sonata may be referred to as 'free fantasia'.

Hinamori's next concern, in the flustered panic that took hold of her after accepting Kuchiki Byakuya's kind, strange offer of tea, was that she had nothing nice enough to wear to the _Kuchiki estate_ she emphasized to her captain, holding the damning handwritten invitation out to him. (Apparently the verbal query had been only a confirmation that he was allowed to send the elegantly thick paper version along to her division. 

She knew Hirako-taichou well enough by now to anticipate the drawling answer that he was sure anything would be fine, since Kuchiki was the one giving the invitation, wasn't he? This, naturally, did not help her panic in the slightest. "Besides, knowin' that stick in th' mud, any help I'd give ya would probably be 'inappropriate' or somethin."

Knowing this to be true, she smiled at his joke and begged off a few minutes early to go commiserate at Abarai over the strange behavior of his captain and maybe get some advice from him. She ended up detouring at first the Third Division, to arrange a meeting with Kira too, as soon as he was able to get away, and then the Tenth, to charm Hitsugaya into letting Matsumoto go early. The strategy, of course, being to send in Matsumoto to fetch Renji on the off-chance the captain of the Sixth had not himself decamped. 

Of course, her somewhat unnerved state caught Hitsugaya's attention immediately (though she hadn't wished to worry him), and he asked bluntly what was wrong, the threats to kill, maim, or at least sternly glare at who or whatever was bothering her left implicit.

"It's nothing!" She laughed nervously and insincerely, and he eyed her even more suspiciously, even as Matsumoto's curiosity grew. "It's just... I've been invited for tea, and I don't know what to wear, you see," she informed him, hoping his lack of sartorial wisdom would get him off her back.

It worked, yes, though not as well as she would have liked, or expected. It seemed her nearly dying (twice) had made him somewhat more paranoid when it came to, well. Her. "By who?"

Resisting the urge to roll her eyes, she let vent a little sigh, reaching for her fellow lieutenant's hand. "Kuchiki-taichou. It's probably just a business thing," she dismissed his worries with a wave of her hand, explaining the worry over what to wear as well.

Matsumoto's perfectly-groomed eyebrows shot up towards her hairline, even as she let herself be pulled along by the shorter woman. "Kuchiki-taichou? Byakuya Kuchiki-taichou?"

"Well, yes. Unless his sister became a captain while no one was watching." It was a small attempt at humor that fell mostly flat as she rushed Matsumoto out of the office, Hitsugaya watching them every step of the way, but making no move to follow before or after Hinamori slid the door shut.

A moment of consideration from Matsumoto was followed with a remark of, "Well, I can see why you're worried about what to wear now." A frown creased her features and voice. " _Is_ it for business then? I mean, there's always your uniform, that's always appropriate, if not the most stylish of choices," she couldn't help but editorialize.

Hinamori shook her head. "He didn't say. So I think..." She paused now that they were outside the division compound. "I think maybe Abarai-kun might know something?" It was a bit of a long shot, but by all reports, ever since the whole Rukia 'Thing', as Hinamori was quickly learning to categorize it as, Kuchiki-taichou had become ever so slightly _less_ rigid, in a few ways. Mostly ways pertaining to his adoptive sister, but some few others as well. 'Seems like the stick up his ass got a little shorter', Abarai-kun had put it, never one for delicacy.

Matsumoto looked doubtful at this idea. However, there were worse places to start, so she dutifully followed her friend-and-fellow-lieutenant in the direction of the Sixth Division. "Or you could ask his sister, she might know!" Matsumoto put in helpfully. Hinamori thought about this, but decided to ask Renji first. After all, Hinamori was much closer to him than to the lady of the Kuchiki house, so she felt more comfortable starting there.

Because Renji was finishing up a few last items of paperwork, the two women had to wait outside the Sixth Division for a few minutes, Hinamori having sent Rangiku in as her scout, who hadn't reported back any encounters with the... she hesitated from using the words 'target' or 'enemy', but couldn't think of many better.

Finally, Renji emerged, looking more than ready to go having a drink with two lovely ladies, he called them with a grin. Matsumoto replied with a grin of her own, and Hinamori too, though hers was considerably more strained. Renji frowned at her. "What's wrong, Hinamori-kun?"

She shook her head, keeping the smile she felt was festive enough. "It's silly, it's nothing. I'll tell you when we get there."

Making a doubtful noise in the back of his throat, he nonetheless walked with them in the direction of the cozy, not-too-expensive, not-too-cheap-and-grungy drinking-and-eating establishment the group of them favored. Soon, the lot of them were distracted by the assortment of interesting foods on plates and the infinitely more interesting array of beverages to fill their glasses, Kira's arrival only adding to all of this.

To Hinamori's surprise, it was Matsumoto who brought the subject back up, clearly burning with curiosity still. "So, Momo, you have an invitation to drink tea with the captain at his estate, hm~?" She put emphasis in all the right places to make Hinamori blush furiously, of course.

"Yes, but I don't know why at all," she tilted her half-full sake cup, staring at it as if it might hold the answers she hadn't gotten out of the stoic captain or his louder subordinate yet. 

Renji, when Kira and Matsumoto turned to eye him, shrugged expansively. "That stick of his may've gotten less stiff lately," he informed them. "But if it's somethin' to do with squad business he hasn't told me." He let the other lieutenants figure out the likelihood of it being squad business then, if that was the case.

Matsumoto leaned her chin in her hands, pensive. "So, probably not the uniform then, even with sprucing up."

Hinamori bristled only a little. "Who said I needed 'sprucing up'?" She asked indignantly, only belied the tiniest bit by flushed cheeks and bright eyes. 

There then ensued a teasing session between the four of them that only ended when a drink was spilled and too much mention of cleavage in the vicinity of his delicate ears had caused a minor nosebleed for Abarai, Kira slipping between worry for Renji, blushing in his own embarrassment, and amusement at the two women. Blood and alcohol cleaned up, they fell back into their comfortable silence for a bit, punctuated by drifting conversations as the night grew later. Finally the four of them agreed it was probably time to go back if they had any intention of being anything like useful tomorrow. 

Hinamori was about to turn and make her way back to the Fifth Division when Matsumoto spun her around (the world flashing dizzily for a moment), before declaring that, no, Hinamori was coming with her because surely her closet had to have _something_ that would work, and Hinamori, protesting weakly that while this was perhaps true could they please find something with a little more modesty than Matsumoto usually preferred, followed, Matsumoto's laugh ringing in the late-spring night air behind them.

She did, indeed, dive into her closet upon reaching her quarters in the Tenth. It was far better organized than Hinamori, if pressed, would have imagined; various outfits, mostly skirts and pretty tops, from the living world on one side, the other filled with nicely hung kimono and yukata from Soul Society on the other, her uniforms at the back. To Hinamori's great relief, she focused her attention--after a few brief, rejected considerations from the other side--on what Hinamori thought of as the 'proper' side of things. After all, so many of those blouses, while close-fitting on Rangiku, would have hung like tents on Hinamori.

Consideration was being narrowed down between a few different choices Rangiku said would go best with her admittedly different coloring when Hinamori felt her eyelids growing heavy. Not wanting to interrupt Rangiku when she was on a roll, though, she kept quiet.

When Rangiku next turned around, a deep blue obi in her hands, she realized Momo had fallen asleep, right there among the lengths of silk and cotton. Shaking her head fondly, she touched Hinamori's shoulder to wake her just enough to offer to share the futon with her friend, an offer Momo took up with sleepy acquiescence, leaving questions like 'what does one wear to tea at the estate of one of the four noble families?' aside for the morning.

\--

Renji knew something about it. 

Byakuya was not in the habit of sharing his personal life with his lieutenant overly much, and in turn, Byakuya expected the same of him (except, of course, where such matters touched on his sister). But he could tell. Perhaps Renji thought he was being subtle, with those side-long glances and curious frowns.

He had not chosen his lieutenant for an over-abundance of subtlety, that much was clear.

Still, Byakuya was, by this point, skilled at ignoring Renji's quirks and odd notions. Still, it was stunningly clear to him that Renji was puzzling over that invitation Byakuya had sent to one Hinamori Momo, still lieutenant of the Fifth Division. Byakuya did not see fit to dignify Renji's unspoken curiosity with any kind of response and the day passed swiftly, if not without its minor irritations.

Though he in no way let it show, Byakuya was... nervous wasn't exactly how he would put it, even to himself. That would imply there was any doubt that this meeting would go perfectly. Doubt over what the meeting was even about, however... He'd made the offer on something like a whim, except Kuchiki Byakuya did not have whims. And he certainly did not back those whims up with written invitations. Still, he'd sent the invitation; it would be rude to back out now, especially seeing as he was the one who had extended it. 

He left the division office with Renji still craning his neck after him, pausing only slightly when his lieutenant worked up the nerve to offer an over-cheerful, "Have a good time tonight, sir!" to his captain. Byakuya did not dignify that with any more response than a slight nod.

More things Byakuya did not do included worry, dither around uselessly, or over-instruct the staff. They knew quite well what they were doing, preparing tea and little snacks and all the necessary things for properly entertaining a guest while he, in order to not give the mistaken impression that this was about business (otherwise he would have informed Renji), slid out of his haori (not the standard captain's one anymore, not wanting to wear a garment so similar to the three traitors that had started what was becoming colloquially known as the Winter War) and the rest of his uniform, the kenseikan in his hair staying in their new place.

He emerged from his rooms, re-dressed and freshened from the long day, to meet the guest he could hear being ushered through the inner hallways.

As expected, everything was laid out perfectly for him, as he took his seat nearest to the door. Moments later it slid open, propelled by the hands of one of the maids, who bowed her charge into the room. Hinamori Momo stepped in on politely hesitant feet, kneeling perfectly when Byakuya waved her to the seat across from him.

Truth be told, he had half expected her to come to tea in her uniform. After all, even if the topic was not business, it was at least appropriate to wear in front of a captain of the Gotei Thirteen.

Instead, from somewhere, she had found a light blue kimono with a graceful wisteria pattern in white, tones of pink and yellow against the background set off by the pink obi, matching pink glittery things dangling from the simple stick in her hair and the faint blush on her cheeks. He was glad he had the doors open to the veranda and garden on one side of the room, a faint breeze bringing the scent of fresh leaves and still closed buds. How had she known, he wondered, to choose a kimono with that particular pattern, that so complimented the not-yet-bloomed tree just outside? Certainly, he detected the helping hand of another in her attire, but nothing about it was objectionable, even by his exacting standards. "I am pleased you could make it, Hinamori-san."

She bowed gracefully from her seated position, setting that sparkly thing in her hair into motion again. "Thank you very much for the invitation, Kuchiki-t--" she paused, swallowing the customary title to follow his lead, replacing it with "-sama" with little lost grace. Slipping her hands to her lap where she had placed it, she offered her visiting-gift with a demurring he was quite sure she didn't mean as simple rote. His own part was, in fact, offered with reluctance until she insisted and he took the wrapped box from her hands, placing it at his side, wanting to know just what she could have gotten him. It's an improper curiosity on his part, and he wondered where it had arisen from, even as he served the tea and, at a subtle motion from him, a servant brought in a tray of gracefully assembled and arranged delicacies to go with the tea. 

To his pleasant surprise, the conversation neither stalled nor turned toward professional matters. Hinamori didn't have the tendency to chatter aimlessly one might have suspected her of, but made interesting, positive comments on the tea, or the food, or the loveliness of the weather, even as the sun sank toward the Western walls, all matched by his own agreement or added statement. There were, of course, things they had some degree of disagreement on, but she took those in stride with good humor, though she never went so far as to quite compromise her position on something, once taken, he noted, even if she to had skirt and slide around doing so with all the grace of a dancer.

Byakuya realized he'd been afraid that the girl was not, in fact, what she seemed to be during the day. That she would turn out to be more like Matsumoto, perhaps, or worse, his lieutenant, in private. But she had been nothing but polite, humble, and very much engaging and above all, still very sweet, even to him, a confirmed widower so far above her and her Rukongai origins he might as well be the stars, managing to do so without being condescending or too terrified of him and his status. He supposed she had touched greatness, even as it had sought to be rid of her, and been changed by it, even as she was blinded by it, as the rest of them had been. 

The tea was long gone and the assortment of food long since picked over with discerning eyes. He should send her home now, he knew. It was getting on toward supper, and she probably had plans, but the sun was just finishing setting and the lamps throughout the house were being lit in preparation for nightfall.

He blamed the twilight for planting the whim in his head, this time, and the sound of early-summer crickets luring him into going along with it. "Forgive me, for keeping you so late... but if it would not be disagreeable to you, would you care to join me in a walk about the garden?"

Hinamori's lips parted in a silent 'o' of astonishment. She had expected her dismissal, not an invitation to remain for a little while longer. After a moment's hesitation, she bowed to him from her still-seated position. "I do not wish to intrude further upon your time..." He braced himself. It sounded like a rejection. "But if Kuchiki-sama is certain?" He nodded easily, once. "Then I would love to."

With nothing more than a word aside to another maid, their shoes were waiting for them after a moment's wait and she slipped into her zori as easily as if they had been what she wore every day. In the deepening twilight, they set off along the garden path. She followed just a step or so behind him, letting him guide her, clearly admiring the immaculately kept garden with an interest that didn't quite border on true understanding. Everything was so cultivated here, she noted as they rounded the pond, still in the rising moonlight. He mentioned that one of the gardens on the grounds was kept as a garden of the sort that looked nearly wild, even though meticulously kept that way, it was true. Hinamori offered tentatively that she would very much like to see that, one day, and he, gratifying himself with her little shock of surprise and smile of genuine pleasure that followed, offered. 

A moment later, her attention was caught by someone standing on the veranda, and he turned, recognizing his adoptive sister's slight figure, still in uniform from the day. He hoped Ukitake had not been keeping her overly long. He had not allowed her to be promoted only for the captain to grind her down as a workhorse. 

Drifting in that direction forced Hinamori to follow, and she dropped a bow as soon as they were close enough for Rukia to recognize the woman that accompanied her brother. "Hinamori-fukutaichou. How pleasant to see you outside of our work duties."

Hinamori's answering smile was full of unfeigned cordiality. "Likewise, Kuchiki-fukutaichou." Byakuya figured the two women had seen each other at least a few times at lieutenant's meetings and perhaps those Shinigami Women's Association meetings he had been to a few times. And they both knew his lieutenant, didn’t they? 

Rukia turned her attention back to Byakuya, her only concession to curiosity the slightest lift of her eyebrows--not nearly enough to be considered rude, of course, but present still. "I have been informed that Nii-sama has not yet taken supper."

He nodded his confirmation. "Yes, I see." He turned to the woman at his side, taking this exchange in quietly, nodded to her in place of a bow. "I am afraid I have capitalized far too much of your time, Hinamori-san."

She bowed properly, the moonlight and lamplight glinting more subtly off the charm in her hair. "Not at all, Kuchiki-sama. It was my pleasure. I'll be leaving then," she rightly took this as her cue to go, and was escorted back out of the estate by the waiting attendants.

His guest dispatched home, Byakuya made his way to the dining room, Rukia at his side. Even from here he could feel her burning inquisitiveness, tamped down only by the knowledge that it would be rude to interrogate her brother over the matter of a guest. Secretly, he was grateful for her silence, and made a resolution to only tell her the bare bones of things. Rukia could know the reasons he had for inviting the slight, quiet, fierce little lieutenant here. Just as soon as he knew them himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "The motion of a courante is chiefly characterized by the passion or mood of sweet expectation. For there is something heartfelt, something longing and also gratifying, in this melody: clearly music on which hopes are built."


	3. Sarabande: Cantabile con Fuoco

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you leave so much  
> as a firefly's glimmer  
> oh my! Oh heavens!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A suite needs a third movement, after all. This catches up to the start of the current (and supposedly final) arc

Rukia's promotion to lieutenant had changed the air of the lieutenant's meeting room, a little, but in a good way, Hinamori had found. Always good to have more girls in the room, as long as it didn't end up like a meeting of the Women's Association, at least. And, from the first time Hinamori saw Rukia's new haircut, the pretty sweep of the newly shorn locks, she had been somewhat envious of the bold new look. Admittedly, this was because she was also immediately arrested with curiousity over whether she would look good with such a change, but that was just because Rukia pulled it off so well. 

She had been considering it anyway, as a sort of sign that she was fully recovered, or at least determined to do her best to get there. Wasn't that something girls did, she thought, to show something was different about them inside too? She asked Rukia, one morning while they were waiting for everyone to assemble for a routine meeting, whether her own makeover had been motivated by such a thing, or something simpler. Rukia had considered for a moment, before shrugging, a little abashed-looking. "It seemed the right time for a bit of a change, I suppose." She tilted her head curiously. "Why do you ask, Hinamori-san?"

Hinamori shook her head. "Oh, no reason, really..."

Matsumoto, coming in right that moment, almost-but-not-quite-late, as her usual style these days, had caught at least part of the conversation. "Ehhh, what's this Momo-chan? Thinking of getting your own hair cut?"

Blushing at her friend's teasing, she shrugged. "I don't know, it's just a thought I had, since Kuchiki-san looked so good with her new hairstyle, but..." She trailed off, embarassed. 

But they, Rangiku and Rukia both, suddenly had a new gleam in their eyes, as they looked her over, consideringly. Rukia smiled softly. "I think it would look rather good on you, short hair, if that's what you were wanting."

"And if one Kuchiki approves..." Rangiku murmured, more for Hinamori's benefit than Rukia's. Rukia, though, still overheard, raising her eyebrows at Matsumoto's brashness, but saying nothing.

Hinamori did not appreciate this comment, especially in front of Kuchiki Byakuya's sister, of all people. "What do _you_ think, Rangiku-san?" She asked pointedly, hoping to get this conversation back on the far less embarrassing, in retrospect, topic it had been on before.

Rangiku gave up the teasing, briefly, and considered gravely. "You'd carry it off fine," she finally decided, giving this judgement somewhat flippantly. "I'll be sticking with my long, luscious locks though, thank you very much."

Both Momo and Rukia rolled their eyes at that one, grinning at each other in their short unity. That was all they had time for before the last straggler (Renji, surprising no one) finally showed up, and the meeting was called to order.

She did ask Rangiku to go with her though, to the hairdresser. Moral support. Yes, she was excited, but also nervous. What if she didn't like it, but only found out after it was all cut off? She kept her eyes shut the whole time, even when there wasn't hair in her face, too nervous to look, lest she question her decision halfway through and not be able to go through with it. Rangiku chattered to her, and the hairdresser was a sweet lady, amused by the both of them, kept reassuring Momo that everything would be just fine, and when it was over...

Momo blinked at the girl in the mirror in front of her. Her hair hadn't been this short in years, decades even, since before she'd left the Rukongai for the academy. Before, let down from its bun, it had curled gently past her chest. It had grown even longer, while she was recovering. 

Not only did she look entirely different, she _felt_ like a new person too. Like someone who carried scars, but carried them as a sign she was still alive. Or perhaps she was putting too much significance into one haircut. She smiled nervously at Rangiku in the mirror. "What do you think?"

Rangiku squealed happily, and embraced her friend around her shoulders. "It looks great!" 

"Yeah?"

"Mmmmhm! But," her demeanor turned sly and teasing. "What do you think your new beau will say?"

Hinamori scowled, wishing she could banish her blush just by thinking about it. "I'm sure I don't have any idea what you're talking about."

"Sure, sure, but you will tell me what he says, right?"

Hinamori rolled her eyes, and they left and went back to their divisions, teasing back and forth in their friendly way. When they reached the road where their paths diverged, Rangiku stopped her a moment, leaving off the teasing. "I got you something. Since you can't very well wear your hair in a bun anymore."

"That's true." Hinamori fingered the much shorter strands of hair, a little ruefully.

"So here!" Instead of handing it to her, Rangiku simply reached forward and clipped the hairpin onto Hinamori's hair. "There! It's a little sparkly for every day, so wear it to your next date!"

"Rangiku-san! It's not a date!" Realizing she'd raised her voice, Hinamori shut up, and said, in a much lower volume and register, "Captain Kuchiki is just being friendly, that's all, and very generous at that."

The other woman looked triumphant and smug and sly all at once, which was quite an accomplishment. "Who said anything about the captain, huuuuh?" She drawled out the word, knowing she'd gotten a slight victory over her friend, and amused by it.

Hinamori scowled even deeper at her friend. "Ohh, you!" But there was nothing more mature, nor drastic, to be done, than to stick her tongue out at her friend briefly. " _Anyway_ , I'm certain he'll have no opinion at all on it, my non-existent beau. It's only hair, after all."

She was wrong, of course. When she showed up for the promised walk through the Natural Garden on the Kuchiki Estates, with her new, shorter hair style, the simple, but very pretty enameled metal pin holding a piece of it back from her face, Byakuya looked mildly surprised. Hinamori was suddenly worried she had made a mistake, that he hated it, or thought it looked too much like Rukia's, or the pin Rangiku had given her was wrong, or--

"It suits you, your new hairstyle."

Hinamori blinked, brushing a much-shorter lock behind her ear nervously. "Oh, ah, thank you. I admired Kuchiki-fukutaichou's so much, I decided I could do with a change as well."

The slightest of smiles crossed his face, encouraging a much larger and pinker one from her. "A good change, then. Shall we?"

The Natural Garden was, unlike most of the other gardens on the estates, cultivated to look as untouched as possible, though it was a lot of work, she knew, to keep it looking that way. It was a more contemporary style, he explained, as they walked and she took in everything with wide eyes. Wild and wandering, but not chaotic. Controlled carefully, but not constricted. Neither of them said it, but both thought that that description suited the other person as well.

They took refreshments in a pavilion set between this garden and a small pond in the next, the late summer night taking hold around them as the afternoon drew on. Hinamori, having duties to get back tobid him farewell, somewhat reluctantly, and left him at the garden gate.

\--

It was a change, that was for certain, the three new-old faces standing in the captain's room. 

The Sixth Division, other than its reckless, running-off lieutenant and its steadier, duty-bound captain following, did not suffer very much at all, in the Winter War. There had been speculation that there would be some upheaval if the captains decided to promote the reluctant Renji to a full captaincy to fill the holes left by the betrayals and deaths. But the three returning captains put that notion to rest, and Renji is glad of it. 

Renji is curious as to why his captain, to whom Renji is still loyal as bone, is keeping seemingly-detached but in reality quite detailed tabs on the recovery of certain other lieutenant patients. He decides, eventually, that it must be curiosity, mixed with some slight suspicion, regarding how well the old lieutenants will get along with their new captains. What else could it be? Surely he couldn't have kept that weird preoccupation with Renji's old friend Momo through the war, right?

Soon, though, everyone's attention is diverted to the Living World, again. Even when Kurosaki Ichigo does not have powers, he seems to attract a great deal of trouble to him, that much is certain. Renji and Rukia, by dint of their long experience with Ichigo, are very much involved in the project, and because those two are, Byakuya is. That's how he explains his involvement to Renji, at least, making it subtly clear that there are to be no further questions on this subject (because it's not as if he's doing this for the boy, no, of course not). 

And if a captain chooses to take his limited leisure time in garden strolls and pleasant company, well, who can fault him? He allows Rukia and the others to take the lead in the endeavour, agreeing to a living world expedition, offering his reiatsu, and doing all that is asked of him, but his leisure time is still his own, barring an emergency. Hinamori is one of the few people around him not intimately involved with this latest project of Urahara's, and he is glad of the fact that discussions with her do not ultimately come around to Kurosaki Ichigo and his situation, usually.

One evening as the shadows grow longer, he weighs the balance of leaving paperwork to be (not) done by Renji versus doing it himself and getting back to the estate late enough for nothing more than a meal and sleep, and finds himself wondering if perhaps he does not find her too pleasant. She is sweet, and kind, and to even his experienced eyes, it seems genuine, and he enjoys spending evenings with her. Maybe he enjoys them too much, he thinks.

Ridiculous, the other side of him argues. She is smart, gentle, not prone to loud outbursts or overawe, and she has an appreciation for the gardens that he finds pleasing. But there is the dark undertone of doubt that he cannot quite quash, especially when he sees her the next evening, in looking wonderful and cool in her straw-colored yukata, chrysanthemums in gold scattered over the fabric, her everyday hairpiece holding back the fall of her hair.

She smiles when she sees him and bows (a little belatedly), and apologizes for her somewhat less formal attire. But it is a hot day, even with evening coming on, and the cicadas are singing, and he cannot find it in himself to care overmuch. Besides, it gives him an idea.

Hinamori looks delighted at his suggestion that they go outside of Seireitei, to the first district, to take in the sights and sounds of the place. Of course, this delight is explained somewhat as she explains that she grew up there, and visits often, and would love to show him about the place. In his own dark yukata, he at least doesn't stick out like a sore thumb, too much, in such a low-numbered and prosperous district. He watches her as she soars from place to place, greeting people she knows, and even some she doesn't, and finds himself smiling at her pleasure. He is somewhat bemused when his sandaled feet follow hers to the entrance of a small house, well-kept and well-lit in the slowly creeping dusk, but allows it.

"Granny?" She calls out, flashing him an apologetic smile as she steps out of her shoes and up onto the floor. "Sorry, I was just going to see if she was in..."

He shakes his head at her apology. He never thought to ask, whether she still had family, or as near as one could come to it, out here in the Rukongai, still living. Any reply he might have is silenced when an old, bent woman meets Hinamori in the hallway, embracing her before holding her out at arm's length. "My, how you've grown!" Though this is possibly not true, unless Hinamori has been away for far too long, Hinamori does not argue. "And you're not in uniform for once!"

Hinamori smiles, waving a hand to indicate the entranceway, where her friend stands uncertainly. "I was out for a walk, I wanted to say hello, so we came by."

Though it was technically one-sided decision on her part, Byakuya finds no objection nor problem with this on his part. It's only a walk, after all, and he is interested. The woman Hinamori calls grandmother clearly shares the sentiment, peering at him down the hallway. "You left your friend standing there? For shame! Come in, come in!" She crows, directing the last part at Byakuya, who bows, and complies, because it is only polite, murmuring his greetings though he isn't entirely sure of the old woman's hearing.

"You came all the way from the city?" Hinamori nodded at her grandmother's question as the matriarch led them all into the sitting room. "Then sit, both of you, sit and I'll find you something refreshing."

The two of them did as they were bid. Hinamori knew exactly where the cushions were, where, to sit, it seemed, and he wondered just how often she visited this woman. Often enough, it seemed, as she seemed slightly embarrassed, having more than a moment to think about it. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to drag you in here. You don't have to stay."

Surprised at her apology, though immediately he wondered why he was, since that's the sort of thing she thought about, Byakuya shook his head. "Unless you would prefer I go," he offered magnanimously, if with some hesitation.

"Ah, no, that's not it at all, just that I know you wanted a walk, and I wasn't thinking, really, since I visit here so often..."

He understood, then. It had been automatic, a matter of her feet taking her where they thought she should go. It was an experience he had shared, on occasion. It did not seem to have been premeditated, and furthermore... "She seems like an intriguing person, your grandmother. Is she truly your grandmother?"

The cracked voice of the woman in question answered, even as Hinamori sprang to her feet to offer to take the tray from her. "No, no, but we're as close as family. I raised her and little Toshirou up from tiny things, no bigger than your arm."

Hinamori looked slightly embarrassed about this, hiding her blush by looking down to pour the chilled barley tea. It took Byakuya several seconds to put together 'Toshirou' with the stern, older-than-he-seemed (sometimes) Tenth Division captain. He knew they had been close friends since childhood, it was true, but. "I see. Then your influence has indeed been admirable," he told her gravely.

"Oh no, not at all, they're good kids, I didn't do that much." Still, he could tell she was pleased by his praise. 

But it seemed the embarrassment was a bit too much for Hinamori to take so, after trying to banish some of her blush (perhaps she had been walking too fast, he thought, she did look rather flushed indeed) with a long sip of tea, she changed the subject. "So! Granny. How have things been here? The watermelon growing well this year?"

It worked, much to Hinamori's apparent relief, and an hour or two and several cold glasses of tea passed in happy chatter about gardens and fruit and reassurances that everyone was doing just fine. By that time, it was well on into evening, and Byakuya estimated that it was really past time for them to be going. Evidently, he didn't need to say anything to Hinamori to see she was thinking the same thing. With reassurances that she would visit again very soon, and that she would tell Toshirou to do the same, they soon found themselves back in the entrance hall. 

The old woman regarded him for a long moment there, expression in her nest of wrinkles unreadable. Finally, she shook her head a little. Not knowing what this meant, Byakuya could not decide whether offense or some other reaction was called for. She didn't say anything outside of the usual things one said upon parting, so he filed it away in his mind as strange as they made their way back onto the quieting streets of the town.

On their way back to town, Hinamori explained a bit more, voice hushed as she spoke and the stars began to shine above them. "She doesn't know everything, about what Hitsugaya-kun and I do, but she has her guesses. It's hard to visit her when, well." She quieted, chewing on her lip for a moment. "When I'm not feeling well," she finished with the euphemism. When one was in the Fourth or, worse, the Twelfth, yes, that would be difficult. "She worries about us both but..." She trailed off, shaking her head. 

It had often been a burden to him, growing up, knowing that he would be expected to take on not only the mantle of head of household and clan but, if he proved able, the leadership of a division as well. How strange, to have relatives that didn't understand about the dangers of a shinigami's daily life, the stresses and strains. He'd never considered that before. "I see." What more was there to say? He couldn't think of it.

They walked in relative silence for a bit, the various insects more than happy to fill the space, mixed in with a chorus of frogs from the ponds, when they returned to the Seireitei proper, and his estates. She seemed lost in contemplation of something, which he took as permission, in turn, to contemplate matters of his own. If only thoughts like how the moonlight looked shining off the gold threads in her yukata didn't keep intruding on the deeper ones, like what an interesting woman that had been, and he could see where Hinamori had gained some of her own kindness.

And then he realized she was staring at him. "Are you alright?"

Byakuya shook himself from his revere, meeting her concerned, shadow-dark eyes. "Yes, of course. I apologize... I seem to have kept you out rather late."

She laughed. "I think it was the other way around."

Well, he could allow that much. "Still, it is past supper. Would you... care to eat something?"

"Before I go? Ah," she thought a moment. "That's too kind of you, but..."

"Please." He bit his tongue to restrict the giddy, stupid, boy-ish urge to tell her she wouldn't have to go, even after, sticking to polite formalities instead.

"Alright then, thank you very much."

Their light repast was in a room with all the outside doors and windows pulled back, inviting in as much breeze as possible in the still, hot, night air. Sleeping would be miserable, he realized. He doubted he'd get much at all, in the end. Thoughtlessly, he mentioned this to her, simply making drowsy conversation in the sticky summer night.

This, of course, led Hinamori to contemplation of sleeping habits, Byakuya's, and all the elements that entailed. She managed to stammer out that she enjoyed hot weather herself, but sometimes had trouble sleeping in it too. Her stammer managed to bring home to Byakuya the subject that he himself had inadvertantly brought up. She was clearly uncomfortable with the subject, judging by her flushed face, so why wasn't he, he wondered idly.

"I apologize," he said formally. "I did not mean to make you uncomfortable." He was disappointed that he had, truthfully.

Hinamori shook her head swiftly, her cheeks still blazing. "No, it's not that at all, I mean. Well. Yes, but not--" She huffed a frustrated sigh, shaking her head. "I should go," she said suddenly instead. "I've imposed far too much on Kuchiki-sama's time already."

He frowned. This--was it his own selfish wishful thinking, or did this go past discomfort, and... into something he was beginning to get a glimmer of the shape of. "Only if you feel you must."

Momo's head was swimming. It was far too warm a night, even with the veranda open to the sky, and how could he be so casual, and maybe Rangiku was right and she'd been thinking far more of all of this than she ever had the right to. Who was she to him, after all? Just a trifle, an acquaintance, maybe, someone to pass time with... right? "I- I don't know," she stammered, honest. "Perhaps I, maybe I shouldn't come back." It pained her to even suggest such a thing, but really, maybe it would be for the best. She'd had an unrequited crush on someone so far above her she couldn't hope to touch them, and it had ended with a sword in her gut. Better to end this now, on her part, on her terms...

Except now _he_ looked like she'd hit him or something, just by suggesting such a thing. "Is my company that unpleasant to you?" He asked, confused.

"No! No of course not, but I just..." And now she'd gone and embarrassed herself again, she berated silently. How was it that she was always doing things like this, painting herself into stupid corners with nothing but her words and her feelings. She wasn't Renji, didn't think you could punch your way out of any problem, but all the strategy she'd ever devised with kidou and zanpakutou always seemed to fail her when her tool was words instead. 

There was really nothing for it, was there? He was looking bemused, with his eyebrows up, and her choices were to flee like a coward or to come clean about things. Either way, she risked losing a friendship she found she valued quite a bit now. Even if she had just suggested a cessation of contact, the twisty feeling in her gut told her that that would make her miserable, even if it was what had to be done. If she ran, she didn't think she would ever see him outside his capacity as captain and superior ever again, but if she stayed...

She dropped her eyes to the table in front of her. When she spoke, it was so quietly that he had to lean forward to hear her clearly. But it was the only way. Momo had decided long ago that she was not a coward. So. "It's just that I like you, more than I should, I think, and, and well, you've no reason to think of me as anything more than a colleague, so... I'm sorry." Her last words were in a near whisper. It had all come out in a rush, and she really couldn't take it back now, could she? What a stupid confession, she scolded, Tobiume joining in somewhat more enthusiastically than sat well with Momo. Like a silly, stupid girl. Any moment now, she was sure, he'd laugh at her, or tell her to leave and not come back, and she wasn't sure which would be worse.

A long moment of silence passed before she dared to look up, uncertain whether he was even still there, he was so quiet. He was, yes, and he had even moved closer to her, kneeling quite close indeed, examining her intently. Momo swallowed down the urge to apologize or cry or both, closing her eyes. "Well?"

His shaky laugh led her to look at him again, this time in confusion. The intensity of his stare had been replaced by something she couldn't quite identify. "Well indeed."

She frowned, confusion now her main feeling, reflected on her face. "Sorry?" She asked, less apologetic than bewildered.

Was it wonder, she thought, or relief? Maybe some of each. "I suppose I must apologize as well." Here it came, she thought, swallowing through a suddenly dry mouth. "I do not," he looked somewhat uncomfortable admitting it, even to her. "Have many that I count as friends. I was wary of altering my actions toward you because of my own inclinations, lest it change the nature of our friendship, or even did away with it altogether."

Confused, Hinamori stared at him. "What are you saying?"

"I," he began, and then faltered, seemingly as unsure as she was, if not more. How could that be, she wondered? But so it seemed. "I find myself rather fascinated by you, Hinamori Momo. More than, possibly, I ought to, but to find that fascination is mutual, well."

It took a few more seconds of staring before it finally registered that, oh, that's what he was saying. Slowly, shyly, she smiled, bowing her head. "You're saying, that you like me?"

"Of course." Byakuya seemed amused, to her. "And what's more, that I wouldn't, mm, be averse to the idea of exploring such an attraction." He held up a hand to stave off further comment, just yet. "Discreetly, of course." They both had reputations to uphold, though his struck her as far more lofty and, therefore, much harder to maintain, than her own, but that was alright. She could help.

"Of course."

The cicadas sung in the silence between them, as they each pondered the shift in the tone of the night, and of this thing between them, whatever it was. It was Momo who finally broke it, voice quiet but pleased, face flushed, bringing up the weather again, continuing their conversation as if nothing had changed. Except it had. Not least of which being that the night drew on into star-studded coolness, and eventually, she had to go home. But not, of course, without saying goodbye.

So, with the cicadas loud in his ears and the scent of full-blown roses all around him, Kuchiki Byakuya asked if he might kiss her.

\--

The attack on Soul Society came soon after, and after that, there was no more time for anything at all.


End file.
